One For the Books
by Celtic Aurora
Summary: AU. An offer to have his memory restored has led Van Helsing to make a dangerous deal with his greatest foe-Count Dracula. And the story of his past lives is truly one for the books. But can Anna rescue him before he's lost to his past-forever?
1. The Temptation of Gabriel

_**A/N: **Hello, Rora here. As if I don't have enough to do, particularly when it comes to fanfiction, I now present to you ANOTHER new fanfic! I know, I know, I really should space these things out better, but this one just couldn't wait, I assure you._

_Basically, it's formulated on another "what if?". This time, though, it's a what if based on Van Helsing. So, one night, I was flipping channels, and I find this on ABC Family (don't ask me how this movie counts as "family friendly", between vampires eating people, friars swearing, friars getting laid, and, of course, the fact that the brides are practically naked, whether they're in their vampire form or not, but I digress). It was towards the end, but I watched it anyways, and I got to the part with Van Helsing and Dracula's big, super-epic showdown. Always one to ponder possibilities, I start wondering what would have happened if Van Helsing had taken Dracula up on his offer._

_And thus, this fanfic was born. _

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own...for now, any of the characters. Later on, there will be some I can lay claim to. Hopefully._

_**Additional Disclaimer:** This fanfic's rating may go up in the future, just in case there is naughtyness in here that needs to be censored from little virgin eyes.

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"Clock is ticking while I'm killing time

Spinning all around

Nothing else you can do to turn it back

Wicked partnership in this crime

Ripping off the best condescending smile

Trying to forget

(Wasting my time)

We're falling right through

Lying to forget

(Telling more lies)

We're raising our truth

Go on and tease me."

-"_Our Truth_" by Lacuna Coil

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**Chapter One: The Temptation of Gabriel**

Five tolls.

The pain was sharp, impossible to ignore as it tore through him. It was almost as bad as the first transformation, but now, pounds upon pounds of muscle and sheer fury were evaporating into the thin air they'd come from. Moments before, he had been the triumphant predator, but now, Van Helsing was only a man.

A man holding the vicious, hell-beast form of Dracula by the neck.

In a moment of pure animal instinct, he released the Count's neck and leapt over the suspended bridge (one of many that traversed the laboratory of Castle Dracula), plummeting a good ten feet before hitting the ground. And as soon as his feet touched ground, he began to back away, while the vampire was distracted.

Overhead, the Count shuddered back into his original form, his hand going to his neck and coming away coated in sticky black blood. A quick lick of the fluid confirmed it as such-but not just _anyone's_ blood, his _own_ blood.

It was then that his eye was drawn to something outside the window-the moon, which was currently obscured by roiling black clouds. Its absence had been what prompted the great hunter to shift forms again, and the vampire knew it, too-this brought a black smirk to his face as he watched Van Helsing retreat.

_I've got you right where I want you. You'll not best me this time, Gabriel._

"Did I mention," he began with that wicked, mocking smile, "that it was _you_ who murdered me?"

Van Helsing's eyes grew wide, filled with surprise and shock. He didn't want to believe Dracula's words-it couldn't be possible, could it? After all, Dracula had been killed over four hundred years ago, well before his time. It absolutely couldn't be possible that he had been the Count's murderer.

_He wants to get inside your head, under your skin,_ a deep growl of a voice, one he had never heard before, cautioned him in the dark recesses of his mind. _He wants you to fall. He wants to take dominance in this battle-dominance that is OURS!_

"It must be such a _burden,_" Dracula drawled, his black, pitiless eyes fastened on his opponent. "Such a _curse_-to be the Left Hand of God."

Disbelief seized the infamous hunter the instant those words died on the Count's lips. The Left Hand of God? That was even less believable than him having slain the vampire.

Six tolls.

_He's bluffing,_ the voice reminded him.

A resounding thud came from behind him and, whirling around, there was Dracula, wearing a smile deadly as arsenic. Van Helsing took a step back, but the Count advanced in his wake.

"All I want is life, Gabriel." His tone was softer now, trying to lull the hunter in before striking. "The continuation of my kind. And perhaps the return of my ring."

At those words, he raised his right hand, holding down his ring finger to emphasize the lack of a ring that should have been there. Van Helsing's gaze dropped to his own right hand, to the heavy ring bearing the dragon insignia, his mind churning at a frantic pace. Dracula-Son of the Dragon, in Romanian. The Order of Dracul-the Order of the Dragon. It had been a famous order during the time period that Dracula's lifespan would have encompassed; that the ring was his ring was entirely possible. But, if what he said was true, how did Van Helsing get a hold of it? He knew for a fact that the ring had been on his hand since the first day he'd regained consciousness in the Vatican's sick ward. Matter of fact, he'd refused to let anyone take it off of him. Almost eight years later, he still almost never took it off.

In a moment of pause, he realized it was a rather sad fact, that it would soon be eight years since he woke up in the Vatican with a pounding head, an aching body-particularly his back; he had two long scars on either side of his back to this day and had no idea where they'd come from-and no idea as to his identity, save for a small scrap of paper, charred at the edges, with the name Van Helsing written on it in elegant, flowing script. But he had no more time to reflect upon that thought because Dracula spoke again, his tone even gentler than before-he hadn't thought that was possible.

"Don't be afraid, Gabriel, don't be afraid," he murmured. "I shall give you back your life-"

_What life?_ He wondered bitterly. _If anyone existed in my past who actually gave a damn about me, I think they would have made their presence known by now._

"-Your memory."

And that was what stopped his not-so-pleasant thoughts right in their tracks: the promise of his memory, the one thing he'd searched for, craved for eight long years. Often, Jinette had baited him to go out on missions in which he had only made it out alive by the skin of his teeth, all by speculating that some of his memory would be restored as a reward for fulfilling God's will for him.

So far, it hadn't happened.

Seven tolls.

Everything around Van Helsing seemed to slow to a crawl. Hypersensitive senses became aware of everything; his eyes noticed how embers of the fire eating away at part of the lab were falling down around him and Dracula, raining fire as if God were trying to wipe away this unholy place like another Sodom or Gomorrah. The stones of the floor were rough and gritty under his feet, slick from all the rain pouring through the giant hole in the roof. The scent of death was all around him, he noticed, but there was also the scent of life, of sweet, delectable humanity, and it was moving towards him. He knew it was either Anna or Carl, and judging by the sweet, sharp tang of a woman's perfume that tagged along with the scent of humanity, he would venture to guess it was the former.

As the world slowed down, his thoughts sped up. The prospect of his memory was enticing, morphine offered to a recovering addict. But he knew full well that there were likely strings attached, and he wouldn't like these strings-this was, after all, Dracula who was making the offer.

"What do you mean?" he asked, halting his retreat for a moment.

"You heard me, Gabriel-I can give you back your memories." The Count stopped, a smile growing on his face. "Have I piqued your interest, Gabriel?"

Despite the fact that the Count had, in fact, piqued his interest, the hunter remained silent. He refused to give Dracula the upper hand-and that voice in the back of his head latched right on to that desire.

_He knows how to break your defenses; he knows where you're weak. He'll use this to destroy us-destroy you. Do not trust him, he only wished to lead us to our downfall._

The vampire count shook his head slightly, a vaguely forlorn expression on his face-or was that merely a trick of the light? "Ah, still as stubborn as you always were. I expected as much." In the blink of an eye, he had closed the distance between himself and Van Helsing, two fingers pressed under his chin to keep him from fleeing. The hunter found his limbs unable to move much, his eyes forcibly locked on his adversary. "But know this, Gabriel-I am your only hope for your memories. You can search your entire life, and all you're ever going to find are whispered half-truths, incomplete stories with gross historical inaccuracies. Books will tell you _nothing._" As if he sensed the question lurking on Van Helsing's mind, he continued, "The Order will tell you nothing, either. No matter what they say, they can't give you what you seek. _Only I can_. So, what will it be, my old friend? A lifetime of questions that no one can answer?" He took a few steps back, arms out, a dark impression of paintings of Christ holding out his arms in welcome. "Or me, answering every question you ever had?"

Eight tolls.

"Your choice."

Again, the world seemed to slow down; everything became surreal, all his senses sharper than ever before. He was acutely aware of Dracula's cold, calculating gaze as it rested on him. His shoulders and back throbbed in pain, keeping him barely tied to reality. Something stirred deep in his gut; the Wolf, the voice he'd been hearing, howled within his skull, longing to be free again. He could feel the full moon on his back, still hidden by clouds-but, much like the Wolf, longing, struggling to be free. Beyond the burning lab, he could sense Anna still hurrying towards him, though her way was blocked by some tenacious Dwergi.

All of these minute details paled in comparison, however, to the battle being waged within his mind, his soul. Both of these entities were at war, not only with each other, but with themselves. In his mind, it was a matter of logic; one side argued for the good that would come of having his memories back, while the other argued for the bad that would come, not only from regaining his memories, but from striking a bargain with Dracula, as well. Trustworthy wasn't exactly a good word to describe the vampire.

In his soul, it was a matter of morals. One part of his soul argued against trusting Dracula-nothing but trouble could come from doing something that insane. Not to mention, it would mean he was turning his back against the Vatican entirely. But, at the same time, the other part of his soul argued that the Vatican owed him, owed him for eight long years of fruitless work. Not to mention, it could be a cleverly-concealed opportunity to destroy Dracula, once and for all.

One decision could drastically alter the course of his life.

"Well, Gabriel? I'm waiting."

Despite the howling of the voice in his head, telling him not to, the great hunter fixed his eyes firmly on Dracula, and nodded.

"Yes…I want to know. I want my memories."

"Well, good," the Count purred, his expression content-and contemplating. He had something wicked on his mind; a person would have to be blind not to see that. "I hope you still have your nerves of steel, Gabriel, for this journey won't be an easy one."

Suddenly, the moon broke free from the clouds in the sky, bathing both men in its light. The hunter fell to his knees, shouting and tearing at his skin, as the Wolf began to take over again.

Nine tolls.

* * *

Anna had been counting.

She was up to nine strokes of the bell now-time was slipping through her fingers faster than she had anticipated. Having dispatched of the last of the pesky Dwergi, she resumed her charge up the spiraling staircase, making her way towards the laboratory, nestled away at the top of Castle Dracula's north tower.

_Please, God, let me get there in time!_ She begged, her heart pounding in her ears, the perfect accompaniment to the heels of her boots, which clacked and scraped against the stones of the staircase.

Finally, she heard murmuring voices, barely audible over the sounds of what appeared to be some sort of fire. Rounding a bend in the stairs, she saw a doorway at the top-a doorway where wicked orange flames flickered, where two male voices floated down. Her heart leapt.

_Van Helsing!_

Ten tolls.

Only two left before the hunter's fate was irrevocably sealed.

Using that thought as an impetus, Anna rushed forward, sprinting the rest of the way up to the laboratory, through the open archway, and into her desired destination…

…Just in time to see Van Helsing fall to his knees, writhing at Dracula's feet as he started to tear his flesh away, revealing dark fur underneath.

She expected the vampire to attack, but he merely shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "You see, Gabriel? It's not only a nuisance to me; it's going to be a nuisance to you, too."

Before she could move, the Count removed something-a small physician's syringe-from his cloak, jamming the needle into Van Helsing's neck quite harshly, pushing the plunger and driving the liquid within into his bloodstream. A moment passed, as his agonized howls and snarls died off, his twitching stopped, and he lapsed into unconsciousness, much to Anna's surprise-and consternation. This confusion only increased when clumps of the fur he'd sprouted began to fall off, leaving naked skin in its wake.

A horrible realization came to her-nothing on earth could stop a newborn werewolf dead in its tracks and cause it to regress with such speed, save for one thing. Her hand went to her sword belt instinctively, only to grasp thin air; she'd abandoned the familiar article of clothing in the west tower, before swinging across the gorge that brought her one step closer to helping Van Helsing. Undeterred, she reached down, ripping a switchblade free of the straps on her boots that held it. She flicked it open, her heart pounding in dread-and potent rage.

Eleven tolls.

"You killed him!" she accused in a holler. "You bloodsucking monstrosity, _you killed him!_"

Dracula glanced over his shoulder, fixing one dark eye on her, giving a light chuckle. "My, my, Anna, don't lose your head. He's still alive. Matter of fact, he rather chose this fate."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" In a blur of movement, the vampire snatched the syringe containing the cure for lycanthropy, and by the time Anna realized what had happened, he was twirling it idly in his long, pale fingers. "Thank you for saving me the trouble of having to fetch this myself. Also, thank you for saving me the trouble of having to dispatch Aleera myself; she was of absolutely no help to my little plans. And now"-He gave a showy bow, sweeping his cape forward as an added touch of panache.-"I must take my leave. Until we meet again, Anna."

She sprang forward, switchblade raised, but the Count erupted into his hell-beast form, snatching up Van Helsing's unconscious form in the talons on his feet, before taking off, flying out a window that had already been broken. And all Anna could do was stand there and watch, as the man who had saved her life-the man she loved-was carted off by the self-proclaimed Son of the Devil.

Twelve tolls.


	2. The Devil's in the Details

_**A/N: **So, after...what? Two months? I think it's been about that. Anyways, I finally decide to update this story! XD_

_So, yeah, updating didn't seem to come easy this time. And when I finally finished writing the chapter, I had to find time to type it up. Seeing as I've joined the work force now (with a nine-hour-a-day babysitting job) I've found finding time to sit down and type a bit...difficult._

_But here it is! A new chapter! Thanks to **Wraith Fan, froggycomics, Trinity Le Faye **(otherwise known as **Trinity is too lazy to log on**), and, last but not least, **SpeedDemon315 **and **The Brat Princess** for their reviews! And hopefully, their patience..._

_**Disclaimer: **Van Helsing. Still not owned by me. Likely to happen? I wish.

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"Deal the cards

(I call your bluff)

Let them fall

(The game is on)

Choose your hand

(And we will see)

Try your best

(Who wins out)

He who wins

(Once and for all)

Wins it all

Devil take the hindmost."

-_"Devil Take the Hindmost", _from Andrew Lloyd Webber's _Love Never Dies

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**Chapter Two: The Devil's in the Details**

_The warrior. The healer. The avenger. The reaper. The keeper. The forgiver._

_Six angels, standing in a blinding white light. They were nothing more than silhouettes, shadows against the radiance. And yet, he could identify all of them. _

_What's more than that, he knew one was missing._

_After a long moment's pause, one stepped forward-the warrior. The warrior walked, practically gliding in all his grace, and stopped halfway between his angelic comrades and their one-man audience. And yet, despite the fact that he was closer, his features were still lost to shadows. _

"_My brother," he began, his voice rich and beguiling, his words in a language as old as time itself, a language only a few mortals had ever heard. And yet, Van Helsing understood every word of it. "It has been a long time."_

"_Has it?"_

_The warrior chuckled. "Well, depends upon what you consider a long time."_

"_Where am I?"_

_A shake of the head. "That is of little importance, for now."_

"_At the very least, am I alive or dead?"_

_There was laughter in the angel's voice. "That is also of little importance for now."_

_Van Helsing sighed. "You never used to be one for games and secrecy…Michael."_

"_Ah, so you do remember." Now, he was pleased. "Even better."_

"_I remember a little. The names. The duties." The hunter paused, frowning. "But you're missing someone."_

"_Not anymore." Michael extended his hand. "Welcome home, Gabriel."_

_Van Helsing hesitated, his hand at his side, trembling slightly. The desire to take Michael's hand, to join him amongst the other archangels, was the worst temptation ever. He hadn't been much for believing Dracula's claim, but here was the Right Hand of God himself, refuting Dracula's claim about his heritage. Surely, the word of the Archangel Michael was more trustworthy than Dracula's._

"_Gabriel?"_

_Wasn't it?_

"_Gabriel, wake up."_

_He blinked, confused. He couldn't be asleep!_

"_Gabriel, you're trying my patience. Wake up."_

_Could he..?

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_

A cold hand struck one side of his face, rousing him from his unconscious state. As soon as he'd regained enough awareness, a throbbing pain shot through his jaw. A low groan escaped him; Van Helsing gently peeled back his eyelids, staring blearily at the person who stood over him.

It was not Michael who stood before him, but Dracula, wearing his usual cold, shrewd expression. His hand moved down to firmly grip the hunter's chin, hard enough that Van Helsing was amazed when no bones shattered.

"At last, you've decided to rejoin the living," he remarked mockingly. "You were in pretty deep, Gabriel-I thought I might have dosed you a little too much."

The hunter placed a hand to his neck, where he had remembered feeling a small prick of discomfort while caught in the throes of transformation, right before sweet blackness had taken him over. Whatever mark Dracula had made in his neck had long since healed over.

It was just then that something occurred to him-he was still human, despite having passed the twelfth-stroke deadline long ago. The dark, growling voice in his head seemed to have grown blissfully silent-at least, for now.

"What did you give me?" he asked, his voice a low, pained growl.

"Sodium pentothal**(1)**, with a bit of a wolfsbane-derived compound mixed in to subdue your"-He paused.-"More bestial side." His dark, pitiless eyes stared down relentlessly at Van Helsing's battered form. "After all, I couldn't have you down here destroying my dungeons. Then, I would have to go to the trouble not only of trying to get someone to come and repair the dungeons, but also of finding stronger chains for you, both of which are quite a hassle, as you can imagine."

_Dungeons. Chains._

Those two words stuck in the hunter's weary brain-he was in a dungeon, at one of three possible locations: Castle Dracula, Castle Frankenstein, or Vilkova Palace. Perhaps he wasn't at any of those locations; he could have been God only knew where. But, presently, his location didn't matter. What mattered is that he was a prisoner. The chains wrapped around his wrist, binding them together, only proved it.

"What..? Why..?"

"Well, I couldn't very well have you traipsing off with your Gypsy play-thing to try to figure out how to kill me. Not when you owe me a debt, Gabriel." His trademark black smile returned. "So I'm keeping you here until the debt is settled."

"And do I want to know what that debt is?"

"Tsk, tsk, you really should know me well enough by now to know what I want." He took a few steps back, until he was near the bars of the dingy cell. "I want _life. _My life-the life of my children. And a new bride would not go unappreciated, either." A lecherous smirk dragged over his lips. "Perhaps your dear little Princess Anna. She is strong, clever, quite beautiful, too-all qualities I admire in a woman. And, if I may say so, she has a most _sensational_ body."

Van Helsing staggered to his feet, anger rising. "You disgusting bastard," he spat. "You took advantage of her while you had her under your little mind-spell, didn't you?"

"Now, that's my business, not yours. But she was so willing-one little command, Gabriel, that's all I needed. Surely, you can understand such a temptation. Not to mention, whenever I want something, I'm not opposed to simply taking it. This, you should know by now."

With a savage, feral roar, the hunter sprang forward, lunging towards Dracula, filled with a burning desire to tear him into shreds, to obliterate that smug face, those eyes gleaming with lust at the thought of Anna, the woman Van Helsing had claimed for himself. But just when he was close enough to strike, something cold snatched at his ankle, pulling one foot out from under him and sending him sprawling face-first on the rough stone floor.

Dracula chuckled. "Ah, now that's what I was hoping to see-a bit of rage, a spark of fury! You best hang on to that temper of yours-staying here has a habit of making one hollow and lifeless, and that temper may be the only thing that keeps you from completely losing your mind. After four centuries with the only intelligent company being someone like Igor, you can understand how I'd prefer company that's somewhat decent-and not insane."

Van Helsing lifted his head to meet Dracula's, teeth bared in a bestial snarl. "Well, you're sure as hell not getting that company from me."

"No need to be so tetchy," Dracula chided, crouching before the sprawled hunter. He fished in his jacket for a moment, before producing a vial filled with a slightly clouded liquid. "Especially when I was thinking of allowing you to have your first memory."

Van Helsing, intrigued-and honestly a bit excited-by the prospect, scrambled back into a sitting position, extending his bound hands for the vial. But, as he did, Dracula tucked the vial back into his coat.

"But first"-He drew his hand back out, this time holding a tightly furled piece of paper and a fountain pen**(2)**.- "My terms."

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like these terms?"

"I don't require much, my old friend," Dracula began, his expression now carefully neutral. "Just your word-and signed consent-that you will serve me, in exchange for a return of your memories, and that you will help me in my cause."

"What cause?" he growled. "You said nothing about a cause."

"Yes, I did. I've told you a few times that I merely want life, want the continuation of my kind-and, last but not least, the return of my ring. I have my life." He reached down, seizing the hunter's bound wrist with ice-cold fingers; with no further explanation, he yanked the dragon signet ring from Van Helsing's right ring finger and pocketed it, before drawing back up to his full height. "And I have my ring. But the continuation of my kind, particularly when it comes to any future children, I will need help with. As it would turn out, the people of Vaseria aren't too fond of my little ones." He shrugged slightly, a mocking gleaming in his dark eyes. "Who would have thought, no? At any rate, I'll need your assistance when it comes to keeping those brutal peasants from destroying my offspring."

"Well, you're out of luck," Van Helsing spat through clenched teeth. "Because I'm not helping you. So, you and all your plans can go straight to-!"

From out of the shadows, a Dwergi lunged, its deformed hands wrapped tight around a battered, six-foot cattle prod-the same cattle prod that once belonged to the late Igor. The tips, spitting a crackling arc of electricity, met the bare skin of the hunter's back, sending a heart-stopping jolt of electricity through his body. A holler of agony tore from his lips, and he collapsed, waiting for the searing torment to die down.

One second.

_Still hurts._

Two seconds.

_Pain still present._

Three seconds.

_Bloody hell._

A hand seized a palm full of his matted, tangled hair, forcing his head back and up, until he was staring straight into the soul-piercing gaze of the vampire count.

"I will _not _tolerate defiance, Gabriel," he warned. "There _will _be obedience at all times, and if you go against my orders, I will make you _beg _for death."

He released the hunter's hair, allowing his head to drop back to the floor with a resounding _thud. _A stab of pain shot through his skull, making his groan, just as a pair of boots moved into his periphery. The boots were followed by black trousers, a crisp black military jacket, and part of an alabaster face framed by raven hair. Dracula had returned to kneeling before him, that damnable contract still in his pale, spider-like fingers.

"So." The paper unfurled, the pen reappeared. "Do we have an accord?"

A moment of indecision. He had no desire to serve the vampire count in any way-but to get his memories back, he had to allow himself to become one of the count's loyal little minions. Surely, even his memories weren't worth a complete compromise of his morals.

Was it?

_Warrior, healer, avenger, reaper, keeper, forgiver. Six angels. One missing. The messenger._

_Gabriel._

_But why?_

"I'm waiting."

The curiosity was too much. As Dracula extended the pen, he snatched it up, scrawling an untidy signature at the bottom of the contract. A smile of cold delight curled Dracula's pale lips as he rolled the paper up and slipped it back into his coat.

"Ah, good. Glad to have all that ugly business behind us and finally be in agreement." Again came the vial, the opaque, silvery fluid in it swirling serenely. He placed it into the waiting hands of Van Helsing. "As promised."

With haste, he pulled out the stopper and emptied the bottle down his throat. It burned worse than the strongest liquor he could recall tasting-notably, the absinthe from the burned out windmill, on a rainy night with a beautiful Gypsy princess-but it spread the most wonderful sensation of languor through him. Rapidly drifting into a haze, he closed his eyes, slumping to the floor, feeling as though his body was simply melting away.

He fell deep into a memory.

* * *

**A/N: **_Some notes._

_1. Sodium pentothal: A better-known name for sodium thiopental, a barbiturate general anesthesia used as anesthesia (obviously), to medically induce comas, and, in some places, psychiatry, euthanasia, lethal injection, and even as a truth serum. Thank you to **SpeedDemon315 **for first bringing it up in her story **Son of the Devil, Meet the Daughter of Your Enemy.**_

_2. Fountain pen: A pen with a refillable ink cartridge, used as early as 953 A.D. **  
**_


	3. Make Her or Break Her

_**A/N: **I told you I would update more often. And here you are, no more than two or three weeks later, there's a new chapter up! Thanks to **SpeedDemon315 **and **The Brat Princess **for their reviews!_

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Anna, Frankenstein, or Carl. I do own Luciana, though, so HA!

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"I hate feeling like this

So tired of trying to fight this

I'm asleep and all I dream of

Is waking to you

Tell me that you will listen

Your touch is what I'm missing

And the more I hide, I realize

I'm slowly losing you

Comatose

I'll never wake up without an overdose of you

I don't wanna live

I don't wanna breathe

Unless I feel you next to me

You take the pain I feel

_Waking up to you never felt so real_

I don't wanna sleep

I don't wanna dream

'Cause my dreams don't comfort me

You take the pain I feel

_Waking up to you never felt so real_"

-_"Comatose"_ by Skillet

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**Chapter Three: Make Her or Break Her**

Midnight.

Anna leaned forward, forearms resting against her thighs. Her foot tapped an anxious pattern against the flagstones, occasionally stirring up small clouds of dust. Normally, she would have made a note to scold the staff about cutting corners when it came to cleaning, but tonight, her mind was far too preoccupied to even notice.

Before her was her family's map of Transylvania, once again concealing the doorway to Castle Dracula. Her dark eyes wandered the map aimlessly, tracing over the familiar, wandering lines of the Danube and its tributaries, the dots that were towns and villages she knew well. Scattered about her feet were more maps, crumpled and tossed aside. Most were maps of Romania, but a few were maps of Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and there was even a map of Russia, abandoned at the side of the chair.

Nothing was giving her what she wanted.

With a sigh, she let her head fall into her hands, fingers gently kneading her temples. Her bed was calling, and a good night's sleep would have done her well. But every time she tried to sleep for the past four days, she had ended up lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the horrible things that could be happening to Van Helsing while she lay idle in her bed. The few times she'd drifted off to sleep the past few days, nightmares had followed her.

_Blood dripping down a wooden pike, into a golden goblet studded with rubies…that goblet raised to a pair of pale lips, a sliver of white fang poking out…Van Helsing bound in chains, his body lacerated…veins running black under skin, as if the blood was poisoned and the veins were dying…a pair of broken, battered angel's wings, snowy feathers splotched with muck and the rusty shade of dried blood…_

Anna jerked herself upright, eyes widened in fright. Those disjointed images hadn't left her since the fateful night at Castle Dracula.

Footsteps in the corridor; someone was coming towards her. A quick listen, and she found them to be the quick, shuffling footsteps of Carl, not the Frankenstein Monster's slow, clunking gait. Sure enough, the friar scurried into the room no more than a few seconds later.

He looked to be in rough shape, with his rumpled robes and the heavy, dark circles under his eyes. The slight, stubbly growth that usually occupied his jaw (a trait he shared with his tall, dark, and taciturn partner) had now started to grow into a small beard. His hair, greasy and in desperate need of a wash, stuck up at odd angles. All together, it appeared Carl was coming apart at the seams.

Anna knew she had no room to talk when it came to appearances, however. She hadn't washed since the night of the battle, hadn't changed clothes, and had barely slept. All her time had been occupied with trying to figure out where Dracula had taken the surly vampire hunter. She knew she must have looked a fright.

Carl meandered to the only table in the room, which he had left a simple meal of porridge (flavored with a bit of honey), some warm bread, and a glass of rose wine. The glass was empty, but the untouched bread had long since gone cold, and the uneaten porridge had since thickened into something that could have been used as mortar. Carl shook his head sadly.

"Anna, you have to eat something."

"I'm not hungry." To her dismay, a loud grumble from her stomach belied her words.

"Not eating anything isn't going to find Van Helsing any faster," he scolded gently.

"Nonsense," she shot back. "If I'm not focusing on mundane things like eating, then I have more time and attention to devote to where Dracula might have taken Van Helsing. It makes sense to me."

"You can't go on like this forever." He knelt next to the chair Anna sat in, a map crumpling under his knee as he did so. "You need to eat, to sleep. You've taken you body and your mind to their limits."

"It wouldn't be fair." She turned her gaze, hard as steel despite her weariness, to Carl. "Sitting here, indulging in rich foods and sleeping in a warm bed while Van Helsing is chained up in some God-forsaken dungeon like an animal? No."

Carl sighed. He knew Anna was stubborn-just as stubborn as their missing companion-but what he was dealing with now was bordering on ridiculous.

"He would want you to rest, Anna. He wouldn't want you to be miserable just because he is."

"How do you know?" She jumped to her feet, eyes blazing. Despite his best instincts, Carl jumped back. Not only was she hungry, sleep-deprived, and emotionally charged, but she had a good two inches on his meager height, and she had two daggers and a switchblade on her person. "How the hell do you know what he would want? And why do you keep talking like he's dead? God damn it, Carl, he's alive, and I'm not giving up until I find him!"

The startled friar moved to lay a hand on her arm, but she pulled away, storming across the room until she reached the map. She slammed a tightly-clenched fist into the map with a loud, dull thud.

Carl, at the end of his quickly-fraying rope, turned to leave. Blocking the entryway, however, was none other than Frankenstein. The hood of his rough woolen cloak (a replacement for the ragged cloak Dracula had taken from him) was up, bathing his face in shadows. Despite that, Carl could see the glimmer of sympathy in his dark eyes when they fell on the Gypsy princess. And, when he tried to leave the room, one of the creature's massive hands fell on his shoulders, stopping him.

"No," came the soft growl.

"Are you telling me to stay in here with her?" the holy man hissed back.

A solemn nod. "I am."

"Are you mad? With the mood she's in, she's liable to kill me!"

"She will not," Frankenstein assured him. "She does not desire your blood. She desires a friend to comfort her. This is a hard time for her-she had lost someone who means a lot to her." His eyes turned sad. "I know that feeling well."

Carl turned his attention back to Anna, only to find that while she still stood before the map, it almost looked as if she'd crumpled in on herself. Her proud, erect posture was gone; she was now curled up slightly, her knees bent, shoulders slumped. Her breath appeared to be coming and going in shaky, shallow draws, and as he watched, a strangled sob escaped her.

Anna Valerious, the headstrong and proud Princess of the Gypsies, was broken.

No more encouragement was needed. Carl crossed the room, placing a calming hand on her back. She turned her head, revealing the tears that trickled down her face in large rivulets.

"I-I've lost e-everybody, Carl," she sobbed, her arms folding themselves across her chest, as if the magnitude of her sorrow was causing her to cave in on herself. "M-Mother's dead. F-Father's dead. And now, V-Velkan's gone, too. V-Van Helsing, h-he's…h-he's the only p-person I have l-left. I c-can't lose h-him, too."

"We're not going to lose him, Anna," Carl assured her firmly. "We're going to get him back."

Anna's only response was to sink to her knees, trembling. Carl knelt next to her, placing an arm around her shoulders.

"You love him, don't you?"

She gave a tremulous nod. "W-With all I h-have in m-me."

"Then you must fight for him. Fight to get him back alive."

Another sob escaped her, and she hid her face in her hands, breaking down into a steady cry. Carl opened his mouth to try to console her, then thought better of it and chose to let her have her tears.

Half past midnight.

After a few minutes, Anna's crying slowed, then came to a halt completely. She lifted her head from her hands, using the backs of them to dab at her tear-stained face.

"I'm sorry," she croaked, her voice hoarse from her crying. "I must seem like a damned fool."

"It's all right. You've been through a lot-you should get some rest. It might make you feel better."

Anna started to protest, but Carl held up a hand to stop her. "I know what you're going to say, but listen to me. Van Helsing wouldn't want you to be miserable simply because he is. He may often feel miserable, but he would never wish misery upon anyone else. Trust me, I know. I've worked with him for almost eight years."

She was silent for a long moment, but finally nodded. "A-All right. I'll g-get some rest."

"But first, you should clean up."

The princess hesitantly agreed, and, almost as if she'd been waiting all along, one of the family's maids appeared. She was a thin wisp of a girl whose thick, dark hair was gathered back under a dark kerchief. Her dress was plain, and also dark, which made her large, green-brown eyes seem quite vibrant in comparison. Anna recognized her as the daughter of her and Velkan's nanny, Iyara. She had grown up with this girl, whose name she, amazingly, could still recall.

"Luciana? Is that you?"

She nodded, crossing the room and holding out her hand to Anna. "Come with me, _Prinţesă_. I'll take care of you."

Anna slipped her hand into the rough, dry one of Luciana, and allowed herself to be led off to her chambers. The sweet scent of lavender perfumed the air, and when the two women made their way into the en-suite bathroom, Anna found that a bath had been drawn for her.

"Oh, Luciana, you didn't have to."

It was then that she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom's mirror. Her face and hands were still smeared with dirt and blood from four nights ago; tracks from the tears she'd cried had carved paths in the dirt on her face. Her dark curls were a tangled, matted mess, while her eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed with huge, dark circles. Her ripped and dirtied clothing looked extremely rumpled.

"On second thought, perhaps you did."

Luciana gave a little giggle, and Anna even managed a weak smile. The maid then helped her peel off her old clothes, and guided her into the water.

By the time the bath was done, and the little dark-haired maid was helping her dry her hair, she felt like a brand-new person. Her skin had been scrubbed back to a rather healthy, pinkish hue, her hair no longer a rat's nest, and the warm water had soothed not only her tense muscles, but her tired soul as well.

She finally pulled on her nightclothes and allowed herself to be guided towards her bed. When she got there, she sank against the soft mattress with relish, realizing that perhaps Carl had been right after all.

"Pleasant dreams, _Prinţesă_," Luciana said softly, turning to leave the room.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

A pause; Luciana opened the door to leave.

"Oh-Luciana?"

"_Da?_"

"Please-call me Anna. Like you used to when we were girls."

A smile graced the maid's face. "Only if you call me Luca. Like you used to."

"It's a deal."

Luciana left the room, closing the door, and Anna pulled the covers over her. Her eyes fluttered closed, sleep pulling her into its welcoming arms.

The clock struck one.

* * *

**Romanian to English Guide:**

_Prinţesă-_Princess

_Da-_Yes


	4. A Host of Angels

_**A/N:** *cautiously pokes head in* Okay, so it's been a while since I updated. Like, about seven months. About that, I'm terribly sorry. Between school and trying to get a job to pay for school, updating this story fell by the wayside. I intend to fix that, as I still love writing fanfiction. I just didn't realize that being in college meant I could exactly write it during class anymore like I used to. What can I say? What one gets during a class in college is more things that are actually important, like notes, and less bullshit like worksheets. _

_Anyways, so I would like to thank **OtterPop23**, **EternalDarkness'nRandomness007**, **Kerazy Ophelia**, **Valeska Vampire Queen**, **GuenVanHelsing** (thanks for the Gabe plushies, darling!), **Trinity Le Faye**, and, last but not least, my most loyal fan (what? she is) and friend **SpeedDemon315** for their reviews. I can only hope I didn't lose all my lovely readers during the unplanned hiatus!_

_**Disclaimer:** Still don't own Van Helsing, he belongs to Stephan Sommers. And I don't own the archangels, they belong to...God? I guess that's who one credits for them...

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_

"We are the twilight and we are the dawn

We are the silence when all else is gone

We are the ancient ones, we are the flames

Once you would pray to us, call us by name

Ours is the power and ours is the might

Ours are the shadows that swallow the night

Worship us mortals, bow down to our reigns

The blood of the angels, it beats in our veins."

-"_Blood of Angels_" by Michele Belanger

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**Chapter Four: A Host of Angels**

"_Well, nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, Gabriel."_

_He smirked at Michael's disapproval, setting the sword and shield he bore down, before taking his seat at the vast table with his fellows._

"_Terribly sorry to have kept you waiting," he remarked, raising a brow with a playful smirk. "But I was in the middle of defending Masada against a horde of Romans. I couldn't very well just up and leave."_

_Frustration wrinkled the Right Hand of God's olive-skinned brow, and a small sneer of disdain tugged at his lips as he took in Gabriel's crude, blood-stained leather armor, his sun-scorched arms, and the dirt smeared across his face. "Glad you're taking your duty so seriously, but _this_ duty should supersede that one. And honestly, would it have been too much trouble for you to clean up before you came back here?"_

"_How did you manage to slip away?" Raphael asked curiously, leaning in slightly. His gray-green eyes shone with fascination, and a curious sort of admiration for Gabriel._

"_Raphael," Michael began warningly, "now is not the time, nor the place."_

"_Michael, brother, there's no need to be so harsh," Zadakiel called down the table, brushing a lock of curly black hair from his face. "There's nothing wrong with letting Gabriel tell us a story or two."_

"_There is if we're trying to conduct official business."_

"_Correct me if I'm wrong, Michael," Uriel drawled lazily, his pale blue eyes never lifting from the blade he was polishing, "but you said you didn't want to start until everyone was present. We're still missing Azrael."_

"_We can go ahead and get started," Michael's tone was firm and seemingly neutral, but an underlying note of frustration could be heard. _

"_Michael, you aren't suggesting that Azrael isn't important, are you?" Raphael asked, frowning—although there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye that belied his serious expression._

"_I never said—!"_

"_Well, we can't all be the Right Hand of God," Raziel added, smirking, his emerald eyes glittering with the same mischief as that of the healer archangel's._

"_You're putting words into my mouth that I never said! And I certainly don't appreciate it!"_

"_Would you quit your sputtering, Michael? I know what you meant."_

_The voice was so quiet that it should have gone unnoticed, and yet, as soon as those words were uttered, everyone in the room fell silent, turning to the source of the voice. The Angel of Death had made his appearance, standing at his preferred spot, the cowl of his cloak casting shadows over his features._

_There was palpable tension in the air. None of the Archangels would admit it, but Azrael was quite unnerving. His wings, unlike those of his brethren, were tipped with black feathers, as though they'd been dipped in tar, and occasionally, his wings were flecked with rusty red drops that looked suspiciously like blood. The black hooded cloak he wore over his robes made him imposing, almost menacing in appearance. But the most unnerving thing about him were his eyes, a chilling shade of ice blue that had a habit of staring through anything or anyone who fell victim to his gaze. _

_He took his seat, lowering the hood of his robes and shaking back his thick mane of black hair. His eyes roamed the table, coming to land on Gabriel, who met his gaze with cool, collected confidence. After a moment of tense silence, the barest hint of a smile pulled at Azrael's lips._

"_You left quite a clean-up for me down there, brother."_

_Gabriel snickered softly. "Terribly sorry, but I am supposed to guard the fortress. Guarding includes killing any Romans who try to get in."_

"_Killing any Romans that try to get in, eh?" Uriel inquired, shaking his head, scattering strands of crimson hair into his face as he did. "Good thing they don't believe in Our Father, or else I would have hordes of vengeance-seeking dead soldiers on my hands, and they would all be baying for your blood, Gabriel. And, much as I do admire you, I am afraid I would have to heed their requests." He shrugged. "Nothing personal. It's my duty."_

"_No, no, I would understand," he commented back. "I would not go down without a fight, but I would understand."_

"_The soldiers I ferried were quite surprised to see me," Azrael remarked, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "They were expecting that ferryman of theirs, Charon or what have you. They didn't expect to see any representation from—oh, what did they call it? Ah, yes, 'that filthy Christian faith', I believe was how they phrased it."_

"_May we start our business now?" Michael asked, his voice aggravated._

"_Of course." All the archangels took a seat around the long table that occupied the brilliantly white space. Michael folded his long, graceful fingers, his dark gray eyes taking in all the faces: Raphael's eager one, Azrael's blasé one, and every face and expression in between. "How is everyone?"_

"_I would be better if you let me return to my business," Gabriel remarked. Almost the entire table broke out into snickers, but Michael frowned._

"_Clever, Gabriel, very clever. I would like to point out that I've called you all here on official matters from Our Father, and you'd do well to listen."_

"_You cannot deny, he makes a fair point," Azrael drawled. "I have business to attend to as well, and I believe I am not the only one."_

"_I'll not have you or anyone else undermining my authority, Azrael. I am in charge."_

"_Oh, really? Since when?" Gabriel stood, brow furrowed, wolfishly keen hazel eyes on Michael. "As the Left Hand of Our Father, I have as much authority as you, Michael."_

"_Yes, well—!"_

"_Gabriel! Michael!" Zadakiel stood, his cerulean eyes flashing silver-white. "Collect yourselves. Our Lord and Father has decreed us all to be equals. Even the both of you."_

_Gabriel, his temper cooled by Zadakiel's level-headed words, sighed, turning to Michael. "He is right. We are at peace?"_

_Michael sniffed, sounding disdainful. "I suppose."_

"_Very good." Zadakiel smiled, his eyes returning to their normal color. "All is forgiven."_

_Gabriel resumed his seat, and the Right Hand of God turned his head in his direction, fixing him with that steely gaze._

"_On to business," he stated briskly. "Gabriel, you're being reassigned."_

_A pregnant silence filled the air; all eyes were on Gabriel and Michael, anticipating what would happen next. Even Azrael and Uriel, who were almost perpetually uninterested, were watching intently._

"_Excuse me?"_

"_You're being reassigned. Our Father has a new mission for you."_

"_But the campaign at Masada is unfinished."_

"_The campaign at Masada is a lost cause," Michael informed him "The Romans can no longer be held off. You're destined for a better purpose than this."_

"_I cannot simply abandon the life I have now," Gabriel argued, careful to keep his temper bridled. "I have created a life in my time on Earth—I have friends, brothers-in-arms. I have a family. I cannot simply leave them."_

"_That is not my concern." Michael's tone was ice-cold. "Before your assignment, you were told that should you choose to mix your life with the lives of the humans, you may not like the consequences that will come when it is time to leave."_

"_These are not consequences of making a life among humans and knowing my time is up. This is you abruptly reassigning me because you no longer think what I'm doing is important."_

"_Besides, would it not seem strange if he abstained contact with humans altogether?" Raziel spoke up, raising a dark brow as he fixed his smoky emerald eyes on Michael. _

"_That is beside the point, Raziel. The point is that Gabriel should have known the time would come that he would have to abandon his earthly acquaintances."_

"_Yes, but I was promised there would be some forewarning! Am I to assume you have already arranged another vessel for me without my prior knowledge?"_

"_Of course." Michael's expression appeared slightly smug. "Our Father always provides for his own. And in return, His own carry out His will. We need more prophets, more people who will spread the word of our Creator and His Son. Rome is a growing world power. If we can convert its heathen emperors and its heathen people, we can spread the knowledge of Our Father throughout the world."_

"_If it is so important, why can you not do it yourself?"_

_Michael's fist crashed down on the table with a jarring noise; the gray in his eyes melted into the same startling silver-white that Zadakiel's had been earlier._

"_You would do well not to question Our Father's tasks and who he chooses to complete them," he warned, his voice dangerously soft. "There are ways of turning these assignments into punishments, Gabriel, and He is not afraid to do so."_

"_I'm not questioning Our Father's tasks," he replied firmly. "I'm merely trying to figure out why I'm being reassigned all of a sudden. Have I not tried hard enough at the Masada campaign?"_

"_Gabriel, it's not that you haven't tried hard enough at the Masada campaign," Michael sighed, his tone softening for the first time. "It's only that it's a lost cause. An archangel of your magnitude is meant for more than a failing campaign. And now, it's not heroes we need, its prophets."_

_The Left Hand of God opened his mouth to reply somehow, but he stopped as the distant sounds of an agonized cry reached his ears. Something was happening down below, on the battlefield—something that demanded his attention. He stood, reaching for the sword sheathed at his waist._

"_Gabriel, what are you doing?"_

"_I'm needed down below."_

"_This meeting has not yet concluded! Business has not finished yet!"_

_He turned his head to face Michael, who looked quite confounded. "Sorry, my brother. Right now, it's heroes we need, not prophets."_

_The blinding brilliance of Heaven, and the faces of his six fellows, faded back to the environment of the battlefield: the harsh sunlight, the gritty, sandy ground, the brilliant red patches of blood splashed about. He looked around, making sure that no one had just seen him reappear, then headed towards where the scream had come from._

_After a moment, he found the source of the cry: a young boy whose name he did not know, lying on the ground. A sword stuck up a good two feet above him, and after a moment, Gabriel realized the blade of the sword had been driven through the boy's stomach, pinning him to the ground. He hurried over to the boy, kneeling next to him._

"_Was it them who did this to you?" he asked._

_The boy nodded. "I…I…"_

"_No. Don't speak," he instructed. "Just be calm. It will be all right."_

_He nodded. A pang went through Gabriel when he realized the boy could have been no older than ten. The son he had, back in the village he called his earthly home, was nine, only a year younger. And yet, here this boy was, lying on a battlefield and dying, far too young to be resigned to such a fate._

_After a moment or two of lying there, half-conscious, the boy's eyes suddenly opened wide. A look of panic overcame his face, and he began gasping, as though trying to warn Gabriel of something. Before he could inquire about what was wrong, a searing pain tore through him, tearing an agonized cry from his lips. When he looked down, he found the source of his agony to be a sword, the tip of which was protruding from his stomach. After a moment, the blade was pulled out, leaving a gaping wound in his belly that gushed blood. Retreating footsteps told him that his attacker had fled._

_The last thing he saw, before he collapsed into the hot sand around him, was the young boy's eyes meeting his, the two doomed souls realizing their fate. The child's eyes closed, and so did Gabriel's…_

_But only for a moment._

_When he opened his eyes again, he was once more surrounded by a blinding white light. His vision was blurry, but he could make out several faces staring at him, one of which seemed particularly clear._

"_Welcome back, Gabriel."

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_

**A/N: **_For anyone who's wondering why the entire chapter is written in italics, no, it was not me having forgotten to turn off the italics when typing this in Word. It's all in italics because it's a flashback. All flashback/memory chapters will be completely in italics._

_Now, as for the angels...the seven archangels, for anyone who didn't catch them, are Michael (the warrior/Right Hand of God), Gabriel (the messenger/Left Hand of God), Raphael (Archangel of Healing), Uriel (Archangel of Vengeance), Azrael (Archangel of Death), Raziel (Archangel of Mysteries, as well as a shout-out to all Mortal Instruments/Infernal Devices readers), and Zadakiel (Archangel of Forgiveness). Only Gabriel and Michael are mentioned in the Bible, to the extent of my knowledge. If Wikipedia is to be trusted, Roman Catholicism recognizes them, as well as Raphael (any Roman Catholics out there, please feel free to correct me), while Uriel appears as an archangel in the Apocrypha. Azrael can be found in Islam (again, this comes from Wikipedia, any Muslims out there, please, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong), and Raziel and Zadakiel appear in Jewish teachings (by now, you should know the deal, I can't guarantee this is right, any Jews reading this, please feel free to correct me, etc...). As to why I picked them as the seven archangels? I honestly don't know. I feel like, with their diverse backgrounds and diverse roles, they would make a well-balanced archangel alliance. Of course, as you saw, Gabriel and Michael have a tendency to be at odds with each other..._

_Hope you enjoyed! Remember, this authoress loves reviews! And flames will be used to make s'mores and/or burn copies of Twilight.  
_


	5. An Errand for the Master

_**A/N: **Hello, my lovelies! I hope I haven't kept you all waiting too long for this chapter-I didn't mean to, I was busy early on this summer, working as a waitress at a local restaurant (at least, until I got fired, but that's a completely different story that I don't wish to go into). Lately, I've been trying to get some business in line for my next semester at college and trying to find another job. Finally, however, I sat down and got some fucking work done! Aren't you proud of me? _

_Thanks to **Mickey Caresen, fantasylover53, GuenVanHelsing, Snips95, Illuminati, **and my most loyal fan **SpeedDemon315 **for the reviews!_

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own Van Helsing, Carl, Dracula, Anna, Cardinal Jinette, or any other Van Helsing characters. I wish I did, because clearly, Stephen Sommer is doing absolutely nothing with them. Also, I don't own a certain character that some of you who are familiar with the works of **SpeedDemon315 **might recognize..._

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"Grant me a wish, my Master

Take heed of me

I have been loyal servant, heartfelt, humble

Gave up what belongs to me

Gave up my greed

My self-examination made me see, to be me

I am now like Judas, done

Ashamed of what I've become

Fear for life I wear as a ring

To bask in your favor, I will kill the king

You say I am unbreakable

I cannot die,

I know, but anyway

The words, they maim me

Grant me a wish, my Master

Compassion, please

I'd like to be a human

...Maybe one day

I am now like Judas, done

Ashamed of what I've become

Fear for like I wear as a ring

To bask in your favor, I will kill the king

Let me go, Master I hate you so

How can I live my life when my whole being cries?"

_-"Wolf and Raven" _by Sonata Arctica

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**Chapter Five: An Errand for the Master  
**

"Wake up."

Van Helsing shivered at the feeling of having a bucket of freezing water thrown over him. Slowly, he came out of his memory-induced trance, back into the harsh, cold reality of Dracula's dungeon. He was lying spread-eagled on the floor, staring up at the ceiling; after a long minute of staring upwards at the stark stones in the ceiling, a pale, smirking face drifted into his line of sight.

"Did you enjoy that?" Dracula asked, his voice carrying a mocking lilt.

He moved to sit up, suppressing a groan as he did. "How long was I..?"

"About a day." Dracula knelt before him, still smirking in an infuriating manner. "And there's more where that came from—all in due time, of course."

As soon as the hunter had sat up, Dracula's cold hand seized his shoulder, snapping him up and dragging him towards the door. He stumbled along behind the vampire, expecting the chain around his ankle to stop him any moment. But when he made it all the way to the door without being stopped, he glanced down, finding the chain that had bound him gone.

"Yes, Gabriel, I've removed your shackles. For now."

"Why?" he croaked, realizing for the first time just how thirsty he was.

"I have a little job for you—well, more like an errand." The count gave a dark chuckle, before leading him up a half-crumbling flight of stairs and out of the dungeon.

"Do I want to know what this errand is?"

"All in due time, Gabriel. All in due time."

"You know," Van Helsing began, as he was lead up another flight of stairs, one that disappeared upwards into darkness. "You keep saying that, Dracula—you keep telling me everything will be 'all in due time'. I'm beginning to think you have no plans whatsoever, and you're just telling me that to keep me in line."

"Gabriel, Gabriel," Dracula chuckled, shaking his head. "Do you really think I would be so foolish as to not make plans well in advance? The only reason I have told you that everything will be in due time is that my plans are not of your concern for now."

They continued to climb higher and move deeper into the castle, ascending winding staircases and following twisted corridors in a random fashion. To Van Helsing's dismay, all the staircases and corridors looked alike, had nothing to distinguish them from one another. There was no distinguishing feature anywhere that he could use as a reference point, that he could try to plan an escape route using.

The castle had once been grand, he could tell by the upholstered furniture, the fierce suits of armor, the rich tapestries. But the furniture was faded and dusty, the armor was rusting, and the tapestries had been eaten away by moths and rats. The stones in the floor were uneven, and some were loose, which did not bode well for his somewhat-shaky legs. The combination left him stumbling behind Dracula, trying not to fall flat on his face.

After nearly a quarter of an hour walking, Dracula stopped at a perfectly ordinary door at the end of a hall. A large window marked the hall's end, just as it had been in every other hall he had seen so far. And just like every other hall he had seen so far, this hall's window was smeared with an unidentifiable substance, obscuring any possible view of the outdoors. Van Helsing speculated that hiding what may have been a picturesque view was not Dracula's reason for covering the windows—if anything, he wanted to keep the sun out.

The count produced a key from within his cloak, using it to unlock the door. When opened, a blast of musty air escaped, suggesting the room had not been aired out in years, if not decades. The room itself was mostly bare, with unadorned stone walls and a window smeared over to block out the light. There was a single piece of furniture, a large wardrobe shoved against a far wall. It was half-draped with an old sheet, and coated in a thick layer of dust. Dracula dragged his captive over to the wardrobe, tossing the sheet aside and opening the doors with noticeable flourish.

Much to Van Helsing's surprise, the wardrobe was filled with crisp shirts, pressed trousers, even formal tailcoats, all in astonishingly good condition for a wardrobe that looked as though no one had touched it in years, if not decades. Frowning, the hunter eyed Dracula closely, trying to find something in the vampire's expression that would allow him to glean the count's intentions. But there was nothing but that infuriating little smirk.

"You don't trust me, do you, Gabriel?"

"I believe I have plenty of reasons not to."

"What reasons could I have possibly given you not to trust me?"

Van Helsing just barely contained a derisive snort. "Oh, where to begin?"

"Gabriel, you wound me with your words." Dracula removed a shirt and a waistcoat from a hanger, tossing them both to the hunter, before locating a pair of trousers and throwing them to him, too. "Have I not proven myself to be a man of my word?"

He stayed silent, not wanting to cede to Dracula that he was, in fact, right. He wouldn't give the vampire that particular victory. Dracula, however, seemed to realize that Van Helsing couldn't refute his argument. He gave a little chuckle.

"That's what I thought. Now, put those on. I'll not send you out looking like a savage."

"Send me out where?"

"On your errand, of course."

"And what's the nature of this errand?"

Dracula turned away from Van Helsing, pacing up the room a few strides before turning back to face his longtime foe. "There is a small city, only a mile from here. And in this city, there is a woman, the daughter of a rather prominent vampire hunter. She was betrothed to none other than your sweet Anna's brother, Velkan." He gave a cold, cruel smile. "I want you to bring her here."

Van Helsing frowned, suspicious. "Why?"

"As you might recall, Gabriel, you murdered two of my brides, and your precious Gypsy princess killed my last bride. This, I simply cannot allow. After all, my young need a mother's care."

"Why this girl?"

"As I said, she was betrothed to Velkan. They were seeking to ally their two families in order to raise another generation of vampire hunters, to rid the world of my kind. This, obviously, I cannot allow."

"And you think that bringing this girl here would somehow stop her family's quest to get rid of vampires?" Gabriel raised a disbelieving brow.

"Not initially, of course. They'll try to hunt me down, kill me and everyone who serves me, and take their daughter back. But once their daughter has chosen to be mine, they won't exactly have much a choice. They will either have to let me have her, kill me and risk her wrath, or kill her and have to live with the knowledge that they've killed their own daughter. Either way one looks at it, it is a victory for me and a defeat for them."

"So let me get this straight," Van Helsing began. "You want me to go to this girl, tell her I'm Velkan Valerious, and bring her back here so you can marry her instead?"

"You're smarter than you look. I made a good choice in choosing to keep you alive."

Van Helsing grunted, looking down at the clothes he had been handed. From what he had seen in the photographs the Vatican provided, and from what he had found with a little searching around Valerious Manor, these looked similar to the clothes Velkan wore. As he stared, a thought occurred to him.

"She'll know I'm not Velkan."

"Pardon?" Dracula asked.

"The girl will know I'm not Velkan Valerious. We hardly look alike, even if I'm dressed like him."

"Do you think I hadn't thought of that?" Dracula seemed amused by his statement. "Rest assured, Gabriel, she'll think you to be our dearly departed Gypsy prince."

"What makes you say that?"

"The girl is blind."

Van Helsing blinked, taken aback. "Blind?"

"She lost her sight from a childhood illness. She's never seen Velkan, only heard his voice, and even still, it's been years. Doubtless, she'll have forgotten what it sounds like."

"What of her parents? Surely, they've seen Velkan. They'll know I'm not him."

"You worry far too much, Gabriel." Dracula shook his head. "Her parents haven't seen Velkan since he was twelve, when the betrothal was arranged. The Velkan Valerious they remember was a scrawny boy in desperate need of a haircut. They'll be just as fooled as their sightless little girl."

"You're despicable," the hunter spat. "Tricking a blind girl so you can have a bride? I thought even you were above that."

"All is fair in love and war. And this, Gabriel, is war. Now, if you're done with your heroics, I'll leave you to get dressed. I trust you can make yourself presentable without me needing to supervise you." Straightening his coat, the Count strolled towards the door. "A carriage will escort you to the girl's home. I do hope your Romanian is decent, I don't want you sounding stupid in front of the girl's parents."

Van Helsing gave an annoyed grunt, watching the vampire's retreating back. _As soon as he's gone, _he thought._ As soon as he's gone, I can try to get out. I can break the window, climb out. Once I figure out where I am, I can strike out for Vaseria. Or I can wait until I get to that carriage, dispose of the driver, and make off with the carriage. I can find Anna, tell her where he is, and we can come back and end this once and for all._

"Oh, and Gabriel?" Dracula had paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder at his captive.

"What?"

"If you even _think_ about escaping, I will suck your precious Anna dry."

* * *

"So good of you to join me."

Cardinal Jinette took a seat at his desk, folding his hands in his lap, his steely eyes studying the person before him. His visitor was garbed in a loose-fitting white shirt and dark gray pants, the ends of which were tucked into ebony riding boots. Over all this was a duster of tough black leather; the grip and guard of an epee poked out from the openings of the coat. A wide-brimmed fedora was tilted forward, casting shadows over his guest's face. This brought the smallest of grins to the old cardinal's lips.

"Still keeping up the pretense, I see?"

"It works for me."

"You're quite convincing, I must say. But here, there's no need for you to hide. Please, take off your hat. I wish to look upon your face."

His guest seized the brim of the fedora and whisked it off. A cascade of golden hair, which had been twisted into a messy bun and concealed under the hat, tumbled down, falling in loose curls to his visitor's shoulder blades. Sea-green eyes studied Jinette with cool detachment.

"Hello, Gabriele."

"Your Eminence," she replied in a crisp, professional manner. "Why have you called me here?"

"Direct as always. You haven't changed a bit, Gabriele. How long has it been now?"

"Since my last visit?" She raised a brow. "It hasn't been_ that_ long."

"No, not since then. Since you and your friend brought him to us. What was that boy's name again, that friend of yours?"

"Ariel," she replied promptly, though sounding less cold and professional than she had only a few minutes before. "Almost eight years now."

"Eight years of knowing you and you still do not beat around the bush."

"And in eight years, you've never been one to beat around the bush, Your Eminence. What's made you start now?"

Jinette sighed. _Astute as ever. I should have known she would pick up on that._

"Gabriele…he's missing."

Her sea-green eyes widened. "What do you mean 'missing'?"

"We sent him to Transylvania, to aid the Valerious family. We received a cable from the friar Carl about ten days ago. He was taken captive by Dracula."

Her brow furrowed, lips turning down in a frown. "Dracula? As in Count Vladislaus Dracula?"

"You know him?" Jinette raised a brow.

"We've met." The cardinal opened his mouth, but Gabriele silenced him with a hand. "I know what's on your mind, but now is not the time, Your Eminence. We need to focus on the task at hand."

He nodded. "Right."

"Do you know where he was taken from?"

"Carl reported that he was taken captive when he and the Valerious princess invaded Castle Dracula."

Gabriele nodded. "Have they searched the castle for him?"

"Carl mentioned the castle being inaccessible. Some nonsense about a door in a mirror that used to be a map."

Again, a nod from the blonde woman. "Interesting. Any news on Dracula's activity?"

"The last report we have is Carl's telegram the night of the siege. They haven't heard anything suspicious since, and haven't been able to access Castle Dracula."

She sighed. "You're not giving me much to work with."

"It is all I know, Gabriele."

She stood up, straightening her long coat. "Where is the Valerious family home located?"

"Transylvania. A small town called Vaseria. It's about a day's ride or so from Sighişoara."

"All right." She glanced out the window, seeing the gray sky lightening to a pale purple. "I should set off. The sooner I leave here, the sooner I'll get there."

She turned, heading for the door to the cardinal's office. Before she could leave, Jinette stood, his face serious and his eyes on her.

"Will you be able to find him?"

She stopped, her lips curling into a smile. "With all due respect, Your Eminence, if his own daughter can't find him, no one can."

And without another word, she was gone.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_*dramatic music* I'll bet you didn't see that coming (unless you've read **"Son of the Devil, Meet the Daughter of Your Enemies"**, then you probably knew exactly who Gabriele was). Once again, Gabriele belongs to SpeedDemon315, not me, so thank her for this lovely little inclusion. _

_I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, I promise that chapter six will not take me forever to write! Please feel free to review, favorite, or subscribe!_


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